


Dungeons and Dragons

by DaiseeChain



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaiseeChain/pseuds/DaiseeChain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew plays a harmless game of D&D, but given his life so far, he really should know better. Featuring Andrew, Buffy, a really big and heavy sword, atmospheric Venice, and a dragon - named Randolph.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dungeons and Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for [](http://quinara.livejournal.com/profile)[**quinara**](http://quinara.livejournal.com/) who took pity on my poor gift token sitting all lonely and abandoned on the raffle table at [](http://writerconuk.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://writerconuk.livejournal.com/)**writerconuk** :-D
> 
>  **Spoilers:** Post-Chosen. Nothing specific, but alluding to season 7.  
> 

 

 

There was a blur of gold against amber, and Buffy's red leather jacket and blonde hair seemed to melt momentarily into the flame bursting across the courtyard. He tried to track her but both she and her adversary moved too fast for his eyes to follow. There was another explosion of heat and he jumped into a corner, spinning around and slapping at the flames in his hair. The air reeked of sulphur, burning his nostrils, making him cough and his eyes water.

"Andrew! Now!"

Blinking the acrid smoke out of his eyes, he stumbled across the flagstones to the cloth bundle he'd dropped earlier. Hastily unwrapping it, he pulled out the sword, and lugged it across to her. The weapon shriekingly protested its treatment as the metal tip dragged against the flagstones. Why did they have to make all these swords so heavy? "Almost there!" He yelled across the din.

A sudden gust of wind nearly toppled him, and by the time he'd regained his balance, the heat, smell, and noise had vanished. He looked over at Buffy. She didn't look pleased. He followed her gaze upward.

Far above the clock towers and domes the dragon bobbed as it flapped its great leathery wings, emitting steam in huge puffs from its nostrils. It didn't look happy either. With one last ear-splitting scream, it whipped its tail around, spiralled round after it, then flew off.

"It looks like a kitten scampering away. I'd call that scampering. Would you call that scampering?"

"Andrew."

He looked at Buffy, standing with her arms across her chest, hair disheveled, her expression furious. "It's a dragon. It's dangerous. It's loose over a civilian population."

"I still think it looked like it was scampering," he muttered.

"No it was not scampering!" Her hands went to her hips. "And where the hell was that sword when I needed it?"

"I tried! It was too heavy."

She stalked over and pulled it out of his grasp, swinging it around as though it were made of plastic. "You said you'd be fine with it."

"I thought I would be! I didn't expect to be on fire!"

Resting the sword casually on her shoulder, she glared at him. "See above re dragon. What sort of conditions were you expecting?"

"I thought maybe... I'd find the strength from somewhere? When we were really in danger?" He scratched the back of his neck, wincing when it smarted where it had been singed.

She shook her head. "Xander would have been prepared."

"Oh that's not fair!"

Buffy just raised her eyebrow, challenging him to keep whining.

"Xander's had years of experience," he said, standing his ground and reaching for the words that would make him sound like a reasonable adult. "He's been doing this sort of thing with you since the start of high school." Even to his own ears he sounded sulky.

"And you've been hanging around for three years now."

"But only allowed to work with you for 12 months," he said, in an effort to sound rational.

"True." She sighed and swung the sword down to her side. "I have to get this thing under control and there's no more time to discuss this. Get up to speed or get out of my way."

He watched warily as she walked to the rags, sheathed and rewrapped the sword, then, as she left the courtyard, followed her at a respectful distance back to headquarters.

 

 

 

The mist curled lazily in tendrils around the lamp posts and railings. It was like a scene from Supernatural. If that had been set in Venice instead of the US, and starred a blonde woman instead of two guys. And was cold. And Wet. And foggy.

So maybe not so much like it after all, but it was still kind of spooky. Apart from the bit where the water from the square was soaking into his shoes. That wasn't spooky; just soggy. He squelched after Buffy, who strode through the ankle deep water as though she was heading to a sale in the mall.

From somewhere overhead, a sound very like a distant rumble of thunder reverberated around them, shaking plaster from some of the crumbling old buildings.

He paused briefly to brush the dust off his shoulders, jumped out of the way of some falling masonry, and scurried to catch her up. Whatever her mood, he was safer with her than without.

 

 

 

The door had once been lacquered black, but now was faded and chipped. He had to race to catch it before she slammed it shut behind her. Being locked outside for the night once had been enough to evaporate all his romantic visions of Venice; he'd been forced to find shelter in a damp doorway, kicking the rats away.

Grabbing at the brass handle, he pushed and hurried inside, taking care first to brush his shoes on the scraper. Buffy never bothered; as far as she was concerned the crud would scrape itself off on the stairs - all seven flights of them. No matter how he tried to follow her lead though, he could never quite bring himself to track a mess into a fabulous old building. Even one this dilapidated.

By the time he made it to the first floor landing, he could hear arguing echoing down from the apartment before it was cut off by the closing door. Buffy was already inside telling her version of events, leaving him to look like the bad guy. Again. It just wasn't fair! He never wanted to come here in the first place. Not exactly. Okay, when she'd said she was going to Europe and he said he'd always wanted to go and they'd been going to leave him behind and he'd told them it just wasn't fair and when that Evana girl had gotten herself killed because she wouldn't listen to Buffy's instructions there'd been one extra ticket, and Buffy had thrown it at him and said if he wanted to go so badly he'd have to dress as a girl to go through security and he hadn't actually complained about that, and it'd actually been kind of nice with the skirt and the stockings and the-

He paused on the second landing to wheeze. This damp was doing nothing for his asthma. Where was he? Oh yeah. The stockings. Well. Never mind about the stockings. They weren't the point. The point was, he'd had visions of jetting off to Europe and traveling around with Buffy and Dawn and Xander, visiting all the historic sites and fighting off demons while living in Sheratons, but instead they'd landed in Venice and now they were all stuck here for the whole winter because Buffy said they had to be, even though everyone else was bored. Well, he and Xander and Dawn were bored. Well, he and Xander. Okay, okay. He was bored. But they'd still all agreed to that game of Dungeons and Dragons he'd suggested.

He'd found the box up in the attic. It looked old, maybe a couple of centuries. Even Xander had been impressed that there might be a genuine D&D game that predated the modern version by a few hundred years. And so they'd played a round or two while waiting for Buffy and the girls to get back from cleaning up a nest of something or other. How was he supposed to know the game conjured up real dragons?

Fine. So finding the dungeons that hadn't been in the basement the day before probably ought to have been a clue, but he had tried to tell someone and they'd all just told him to shut up. It was hardly his fault if they wouldn't listen, was it?

 

 

 

Finally! The Seventh floor! He gripped the wrought iron balustrade, dragging in great lungfuls of slightly musty air while staring at a cherub that eyed him balefully from an alcove. "Don't look at me like that," he told it. "It's not my fault this country hasn't moved into the twenty-first century."

He was still gasping over the railing experimenting with looking down without getting vertigo, when the door to the apartment opened behind him.

"Where have you been?" Buffy threw the cloth-wrapped sword to him. "Play time's over. We've got a dragon to catch."

He caught it, almost buckled under the weight of it, struggled not to drop it and finally managed to stand straight again. "But I just got here!"

"And now you gotta unget. Xander got a lock on this thing. I don't want to lose it again." She peered at him. "Last chance, Andrew. Are you up to this or not? And don't tell me you are if you aren't because there's only me and it time, there's not rescuing you time."

His legs were on fire and they felt like they were made of jelly. They were fire-jelly. An ad for jelly you could set on fire popped into his mind. He shook it away. This was his big chance. There'd be time for jelly-fire later. "I'm good. Just point me in the direction and I'm, like, so there."

"The direction, Andrew, is down. And you're also, like, still in the 80's apparently."

"Bite me." He snapped, before he even knew what he was saying.

She arched an eyebrow. "Are you finally developing a spine?"

Was he? "Maybe," he said, perhaps a touch defensively. "But at least I'm trying to help when I can."

She stared at him, her silence scratching down his nerves. The impulse to jump in and say something, anything, nearly overwhelmed him. But this was what he'd wanted for years; her acceptance and love. Okay. Not love. Acceptance. He'd settle for acceptance. From anyone else, silence would just be a gap between words, but with Buffy, when she looked at you like that? It was like she was weighing your soul.

Reaching behind her, she pulled the door shut with a thud that reverberated through the hall, glanced guiltily at it to see if she'd broken anything, then marched past him and down the stairs.

He hesitated, unsure of where to go.

"You coming or what?" Her voice didn't so much float as slam through the air to him.

He hoisted the sword and scrambled after her.

 

 

 

Despite knowing its location, the dragon's small size and coloring meant it was surprisingly well camouflaged; gray scales melded into the mutable grays of the city and sky. It wasn't 'til a golden dome above a gray bridge blinked slowly that they realized they'd been staring at it for a few minutes already. He certainly didn't yelp when he saw it. Or if he did, Buffy chose not to hear him.

"Right." Buffy wrested the sword from Andrew, unwrapped it, and quickly clambered up a stone column with her usual scant regard for local sensibilities. An elderly woman in a black headscarf muttered scorn at them, her gravel-voice grinding to a halt mid-sentence when she saw the dragon. Andrew expected her to squawk and run, but instead she glared at it, then at Buffy, before rounding on Andrew, poking him in the chest with a bony finger. "You bring dragon?"

"Uh..."

"You fix!" She prodded him again. "Dragon not good! Ruin beautiful buildings!" She gave him one final prod before moving off down the street muttering under her breath.

Andrew's Italian wasn't that good, but he was pretty certain she wasn't handing them compliments.

"Oh don't mind her. She's been like that since she was a child. Always grumpy, that one."

The voice was weird; very breathy, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was as though the wind was speaking to him. He spun in a circle. There was no one else around unless you counted Buffy, who was currently hanging from an old, ornate gutter.

"Up here."

He looked up. The dragon winked.

This couldn't be good. "This can't be good."

"Why?" The question came on a rush of wind. The dragon partly uncurled from the spire and tilted its head.

The movement shook Buffy, who only just managed to catch herself on a ledge with one hand and dangle there watching the sword fall to a balcony below. She swore and dropped down a floor to retrieve it.

Andrew looked between her and the dragon. "Er..."

"Not very assertive, are you?" The dragon huffed and blinked slowly at him.

"I am too! I'm..." He pulled himself up straighter as he struggled to think of an appropriate adjective.

"Quite frankly," the dragon yawned and set off a gust of wind that nearly toppled Buffy off the balcony, "I'd expected more from the Dungeon Master."

"What?"

"I said, quite frankly-"

"Yes, yes. I heard that bit. What Dungeon Master?"

The dragon frowned and cocked its head, dislodging another bit of crumbling masonry as it did so. "You are the Dungeon Master, are you not?"

"Uh, yes?" Andrew scratched his head. "Am I?" He coughed. "I mean, I am." He nodded to show he was serious.

"Yuh huh. Sure you are?"

"Wait... Why isn't Buffy hearing this?"

"Buffy? Is that the tiny blonde girl with the... Oh really. Is that actually a sword?" The dragon squinted at her, before returning its attention to Andrew. "Is that really necessary?"

"Er, yes. If she's going to kill you, she needs something to fight you with."

"Kill me!" Steam shot from its nostrils and its head reared back. "Why? What did I do?"

"You eat people!"

"I never!"

"Well, you endanger them!"

"How?" It looked at him quizzically.

"With the, you know, the roaring flames, and the... and the... steam?"

For several moments the only sound was of Buffy clanging her way up the side of a stone wall.

"You want to kill me for steam cleaning people's clothes? They should be paying me for the service."

"Uh..." Andrew scratched his head.

"I have never killed anyone and I'm certainly not about to start now. As for endangering them; it's a natural byproduct of being this size and stuck in a city this old and small."

"Aha! You endanger them by causing the buildings to crumble on them!" Someone in the back of his head was telling him this was a ridiculous conversation to be having, but he ignored them and forged ahead.

"Oh please. This city is crumbling even without my help. It's old. It's damp. It crumbles. That's what it does."

As if on cue a painted sign fell on the pavement next to Andrew.

"You see?"

Andrew frowned at the dragon. "You probably caused that with all your huffing and puffing."

The dragon rolled its eyes. From the corner of his eye he saw Buffy pause and look first at the dragon, and then at him.

"Andrew," she yelled from the rooftops, "is there something going on here I should know about?"

"Er, no?" He looked his best 'sternly' at her.

"You sure? Cause I could have sworn I saw it roll its eyes at you."

"Well it's being obstinate."

"I'm being obstinate? Mr all-dragons-are-people-eaters who wishes me dead for no good reason is calling me obstinate?"

"Uh-"

"Andrew!"

He looked up at her then grabbed for a railing as vertigo set in. She really shouldn't be standing on the edge of a four story building so casually.

"Are you having a conversation with that thing?"

The dragon huffed. "Thing. That's nice. I'm a thing now. First they want to kill me, now they call me a thing." It snorted, accidentally blowing several tiles of a nearby roof.

"Uh, yes?"

She folded her arms at him.

"I didn't start it!"

"But you can hear it?"

"Well, yes. Can't you?"

"No, of course I can't!" Buffy exclaimed in perfect timing with the dragon as it huffed out, "No, of course she can't!"

Andrew looked between the two of them, both now apparently cross with him. "I just assumed you could. I mean, I can hear it, so why can't you?"

"Because you're the Dungeon Master." The dragon shook its head. "Really. Do we have to go through this again?"

"You keep saying that! I have no idea what you mean!"

Buffy folded her arms, glared at Andrew, then sat down on the precipice.

He really wished she wouldn't do that; it gave him the screaming heebie jeebies. "It keeps saying I'm a Dungeon Master."

"What... like in those stupid board games?"

"They are not stupid! They require tactical-"

"Board games." Buffy called down, shutting him off. "So if you're a Dungeon Master, can't you get this thing under control?"

The dragon huffed again.

"I think it'd prefer if we didn't keep calling it a thing." He yelled up at her.

She looked at the dragon. "Thing." She said.

The gust of wind nearly knocked Andrew over.

"Stop that!"

She glared at him. "I don't have time for this, Andrew."

"I mean it! Stop calling him a thing! He has a name, you know."

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

"It's... it's..." He looked at the dragon. "What is your name anyway?"

"Randolph."

"Rudolph? I thought that was a reindeer name."

"Randolph." The dragon repeated with emphasis.

"He says his name is Randolph."

"Randolph? Are you kidding me?"

"Oh, and someone called Buffy has the right to be choosy about names?" He snapped back.

There was a long and heavy silence before she responded. Long enough that Andrew wondered if he should be running and hiding from her temper now.

"It just doesn't sound very dragony."

"Nothing wrong with Randolph," the dragon huffed at them, scratching behind his ear with his leg. "Fine old Dragonish name. Besides, I was named after my grandfather."

"He says he was named for his grandfather," Andrew relayed.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Well, much as I'm enjoying this tete-a-dragon, can we get to the fighting part now?"

"She wants to know if-"

"I heard her," Randolph interrupted. "It's her that can't hear me, not the other way around." He regarded Andrew thoughtfully. "You're really not very good at this at all."

Andrew flung out his arms. "Well how good am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to be doing? I only just found out I'm supposed to be a Dungeon Master. And anyway, you could be lying about that."

"Did you find the game?"

"Well, yes."

"Did you play the game?"

"Uh, yeah."

"And were you the Master of the game?"

"Um... yeah."

"Well, there you go then."

Bells rang out from a nearby church. Mist drifted around Andrew's ankles. Water lapped gently against the banks of the canal. The clouds took on that pearly gray color they get just before snow. The cold brought clarity to Andrew's words as he whined, "But I didn't know that would happen!"

Randolph arched a brow. "Are you sure you want to be following her about?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you seem remarkably unaware for a fledgling mage following a warrior on a quest."

Andrew felt his jaw drop open of its own volition. "What now? What quest?"

"The small blonde one is a warrior."

"She's a slayer."

The sudden movement of Buffy's head in his direction told him he'd managed to gain her attention, and not in a good way.

The dragon shrugged. "Slayer, hunter, warrior. All the same thing. They fight. They kill. They die."

He couldn't really argue with that. "Well, okay. But what's that about a quest?"

Randolph rolled his eyes again. "Was she born here?

"No, but-"

"Is she traveling around a lot?"

"Well, yes but that's because-"

"Is she searching for something?"

"You. But she found-"

Randolph shook its head. "Not me. Has she yet found inner peace and tranquility?"

Andrew blinked. "No-"

"And did you use a board and incantations to summon a dragon?"

"I didn't know that was going to happen!"

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true!" He clutched his hair. There weren't any flames this time, but his scalp felt on fire; all prickly and wrong. This couldn't be happening to him. He couldn't really be a mage, could he? A fleeting vision of all those spells he and Jonathan had used drifted past his mind's eye. Had he really been responsible for their success? Could he... could he have done anything to stop The First? Even more worrying - what if he'd been the one to set it loose? He gnawed on a knuckle. What should he do? If he really was a mage, he had responsibilities didn't he? What would Buffy do? Kill Randolph. Well, that wasn't going to happen. He'd had enough killing for one lifetime, thanks. No. Scratch Buffy. What would Willow do?

Willow would just draw power from inside herself somewhere in that scary, scary way. If he had that kind of magic hiding inside himself he didn't want to know. She may supposedly be reformed, but every time he looked at her he had to work hard not to cower. And anyway, if he had a different kind of magic, maybe Willow wasn't such a good role model. Giles? Too old and too English. Xander? Xander was... Xander was quietly confident. He worked with Buffy, but he didn't follow her around like a puppy, and he stood up to her when she was wrong. Buffy had as much as said it herself; Xander would have been prepared. What would Xander do?

"So," the dragon said, shifting slightly, and ignoring the gargoyle it knocked out of position. The gargoyle muttered at it and moved off to find a safer perch. "Mage. Warrior. Quest. Simple."

"Can I kill Randolph or not?" Buffy's voice had an edge to it that didn't bode well for one of them.

Andrew ignored her. "You said that being in a city this small is what's causing the problems. Where do you usually live?"

"Oh, I used to live in the countryside hereabouts." Randolph frowned as he peered around the city. "It's all been built over. The way it worked was I kept out of their way, they kept out of mine. Occasionally they fed me a virgin sacrifice from one of the overcrowded prisons."

"What?" Andrew's voice hit a register he hadn't known was possible.

"Dragon humor."

Andrew glared at it.

Randolph shrugged. "Guess you had to be around in the eighteenth century."

"Andrew! It's cold up here. I'm going to warm up by killing you if you don't tell me what's going on!"

"In a minute! This is important, Buffy."

She rocked back, clearly surprised at the vehemence in his voice. "Huh. Stones. Who knew? May be hope for you after all."

"Look," he said, addressing Randolph again and ignoring that remark, "We can't just leave you here. It's dangerous." He glanced at Buffy. "For you as well as the citizens. Is there anywhere else you can go?"

"Well..."

Andrew waited as Randolph... fidgeted. There was no other word for the restless shuffling of haunches and flexing of claws.

"I did hear of a sanctuary. Up North, in the old Norse Way. Mountains, rivers, fjords trees." A distinctly wistful edge crept into Randolph's voice. "Other dragons to play with. They say it's run by some wizard." Randolph stared off into the distance.

"Who say?"

Randolph avoided looking at Andrew. "Oh you know. Just dragon talk. Probably nothing."

"Dragons gossip?"

Buffy looked sharply at him. "Did I just hear you say 'dragons', as in plural?"

He waved her quiet and addressed Randolph. "So why don't you just flap off to this dragon retirement home?"

Randolph blinked at him. "I can't. I need your permission."

"My permission?"

"It's a contract between Dungeon Master and Dragon. Not that I expect you to understand."

"Do I need to understand? Couldn't I just give you permission?"

"I... don't know."

"Well, I give you permission to go to the Dragon Sanctuary in Norway. Uh, it is in Norway right?"

"Yes."

Buffy hefted her sword. "Did I just hear you give Randolph permission to leave?"

Randolph stretched, flexed his claws and put them through the spire. The sounds of timber crashing into the floors below it echoed around the square. "Oops," he said. "Sorry about that."

"So, what happens now?"

"I leave, I think."

"That's it? No great fiery battle?"

Randolph cocked his head. "Do you want one?"

"Not particularly."

"Then let's not. I'm all out of puff anyway. This sitting around isn't good for my chest." A small puff of oily black smoke rattled out of him as he wheezed. Great wings stretched, blocking out the remaining weak light. He flapped experimentally, then lifted off, hovering just above the church. "Thanks for... well, I was going to say everything, but you didn't do that much did you? So thanks for letting me go."

"I'm still not even sure what I did."

"Well, you'll figure it out eventually." Randolph flapped in a lazy circle, being careful to stay out of reach of Buffy who was poised to slash him. "Just remember, her quest is not yours. Eventually you'll have to strike out on your own. Might as well start practicing today. Or something profound like that anyway." He heaved himself upward and flapped off.

Andrew watched him go till he couldn't see the dragon against the horizon, which didn't take long because of the cloud. There was a clank, as of a sword hitting the cobblestones next to him and he looked over in time to see Buffy looming at him.

"What the hell, Andrew?"

He held up a hand. "Don't even start with me. You're not the only one having a stressful day, you know. I just found out I'm a mage and a Dungeon Master."

"Who also just let a dangerous dragon flap off into the wilderness."

"You could have stopped Randolph any time you wanted," he pointed out.

She put her hands on her hips. "Not the point."

"Oh, so the point," he retorted. "You want to keep blaming me for letting Randolph go, fine. Keep at it. We both know you could have taken him. For some reason you chose not to." He squinted at her. "Why didn't you by the way?"

She sighed and bent to pick up the sword. "I thought maybe you knew what you were doing for once." She shoved the sword savagely back into its scabbard. "Won't be making that mistake again."

"It's not a mistake."

The confidence in his voice startled both of them. Usually this was the point where he got flustered, looking at the ground and kicking his feet in imaginary dust. This time, he just looked her straight in the eye. The silence swirled around them, rising with the mist coming off the canal.

There was a... once he would have called it a 'moment', where he thought they both connected and understood. But he know understood the truth was that you could never really know what a Slayer was thinking. They weren't built like the rest of the human race. They were as unfathomable as the creatures they slew. No matter. He was right about this, and he knew it. She just had to accept that he did, and stand his ground, even if it meant getting a sword through his neck.

Buffy blinked first.

"Huh," was her only comment on that.

A shuffling noise had her whirling, weapon drawn, only to hide it quickly behind her back as she identified the old woman from earlier hobbling toward them carrying plastic bags filled with vegetables.

The old woman stopped beside them grumbling under breath, and put the groceries down. She poked Buffy in the chest. "You. Dragon fixed?"

Buffy glanced at Andrew. "Yes. Dragon fixed."

"Good," the old woman huffed, and glanced back over her shoulder to where a solitary figure in a leather duster coat was just disappearing around the corner. "Now vampires, yes?" Dark eyes glared at them from beneath drooping lids.

"Uh, yes."

And that was that.

They watched carefully, as the old lady gathered up her shopping and carried on grumbling into the distance. Some of the muttering was loud enough for Andrew to catch. Something about 'In her day slayers didn't walk around half-naked in winter.' He decided not to translate that.

"Well, I suppose we should take the old woman's advice and see some vampires." Buffy addressed the square in general.

"I think she meant you're supposed to kill them."

Buffy shrugged. "She didn't say that. Just 'Now vampires, yes?' So. Now vampires. Yes." She looked at him. "You better be right about it."

No stuttering this time; she wasn't infallible. No bowing and scraping in her presence; she wasn't an idol to be worshipped. No whining, and definitely no backing down. Because if there was something he knew and understood, it was dragon-lore. Well, that and Star Trek. But that belonged to his teenage years. He'd spent enough time running after others, letting them tell him what was wrong and right. He might not know how to sever the arms from a giant squid or conjure up plants from the earth, but he knew his dragons, even if he was still a little unclear on the dungeons. He could never be her, or Willow, or even Xander, but he could be himself. A lifetime of cramming for RPGs was finally about to bear fruit. He was finally her equal, but different. Time to be an adult. Time to stand up to Buffy. "I am."

"Huh," she repeated, studying him. Suddenly she spun away from him and marched off. "Well, come on then, if you're coming!"

Apparently different but equal meant something else in Slayerville. Oh well. He decided to call this his first victory. He hadn't exactly slain the mighty dragon with the magic sword, but he had managed to save any number of Venetian damsels from a potentially distressing situation. And there were still those dungeons to see to. Now there was an idea. "Hey, Buffy!"

She paused. "Yeah?"

"About those dungeons-"

"Don't even think about it. I have a sword and I'm not afraid to use it, remember?" She strode off again.

He grinned. Maybe Venice wouldn't be quite so boring after all.


End file.
